


Soon or Never

by madasthesea



Series: what you were then outtakes/drabbles [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 17:59:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17288735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madasthesea/pseuds/madasthesea
Summary: Infinity War doesn't happen in the 'what you were then I am today' universe. But what if it did?





	Soon or Never

**Author's Note:**

> Are you really writing an AU if you don't have a very similar AU that's much much sadder?
> 
> This is an AU oneshot based on my what you were then series. I'm going to assume you read that if you're here. It might not make sense if you haven't.

Her boy has been gone a long time. He’d left in a hurry with Tony, both of them in their weird clothes that smell like sweat and blood and fear.

Before he went, he’d knelt in front of Maggie, pressed his head against hers. She’d licked his face to soothe him, buried her nose in his shirt.

 _Sorry,_ he said. She knew that word, only because he said it so often. _Sorry_ was when his salt tears matted her fur, when he sat shaking late into the night. She didn’t understand why he was saying it now and she barked.

 _We’ll be back soon_ , her boy promised.

 _Peter,_ his dad called, and they both left, leaving Maggie alone.

 _Soon_ is not a word Maggie knows, but it feels like a long time. So long her food bowl is empty and the invisible woman has to open the door for her to go Out. So long another human, _Happy_ her boy calls him, comes and fills her bowl, then again and again.

When Happy is gone, Maggie paces the dark hallways, keeps vigil by the door.

 _Soon_ can’t be much longer, can it?

 

After what feel like a whole lot of _soons_ , the ground starts shaking and a growling fills her ears.

Barking madly, Maggie goes to the windows to watch as a huge black bird lowers onto the lawn, it’s wings blowing the leaves of the trees and blades of grass.

The back of the bird opens and one of her humans steps out.

Maggie barks until the invisible woman opens the door and then she’s off, running faster than she’s ever run.

It isn’t Peter, but it’s Tony and he’s hers, too, so she runs and runs and then she catches the heavy scent of blood. Instead of tackling him like she wants, she slows down, and starts circling him, sniffing at every inch, nudging him and barking in greeting. It’s been _so long_.

Instead of laughing and kneeling to pet her, Tony just keeps walking.

“Come on, Maggie,” he calls tiredly. Maggie will come, but first she needs to say hi to Peter. She waits for him to come out of the bird like the man had, but after a moment she gets too impatient.

She darts toward it, even daring to go inside to find her boy.

He isn’t there. She pauses, smells the air. His scent is barely there, a faint echo, and there’s something wrong about it, something that reminds her of dirt and makes her ears stand up.

Maybe he’ll be coming later, in a different bird, she reasons, and turns and races back to Tony, where he’s holding the door open for her.

She follows him inside, still eagerly jumping around him. She’s so happy to see him, even if there’s something off about how he smells, the way he’s standing—there’s something very old in his face.

He goes to the kitchen and pours food into her bowl and gets water and then sits on the floor and watches as Maggie eats every piece, drinks every drop. Happy hadn’t been by in a while.

Peter sits and watches her eat sometimes, his face soft and his heartbeat slow as he leans against a cabinet. Tony has never done it before, so when she’s done, Maggie pads over and licks his face in gratitude. He doesn’t shoo her away, but he still hasn’t pet her and it’s been ages since her ears have been scratched.

She nudges at his face gently, asking silently where his son is.

Tony doesn’t answer, just stands and leaves the room.

Maggie almost follows, but Peter might be home any minute and she wants to greet him when he gets here.

She settles in front of the window and waits.

 

It’s been hours since Tony got home and Peter still isn’t here. It’s gotten dark already, and Maggie’s confused, because usually when Peter is this late, she and Tony wait together, pacing back and forth as they worry.

Tony hasn’t reappeared and she’s starting to worry about him, too.

Hesitating for a moment, she turns from the door, determined to find Tony. She sniffs the air, finds his familiar scent, tainted as it is with blood and dirt and sadness.

Maggie follows the whisping trails of scent down the empty halls. She ends up at a well-known door and barks to ask the man to open it.

After a while, she barks again. The door doesn’t open.

Huffing, Maggie stands on her back legs just enough to get the knob in her mouth. It takes some effort, but the door swings open.

The room is dark inside. Maggie walks in, deftly stepping around shoes and a spilling backpack toward the bed, where Tony sits. She climbs onto it, the familiar scent of the fabric making her worry even more for her boy.

In the man’s hands, there’s a frame, showing a small image of Peter and Tony smiling. Maggie bumps her head against Tony’s shoulder. He blinks down at her, his face creased and wet.

Maggie places her huge paw on the tiny Peter behind the glass and yips softly.

_Where is my boy?_

Her boy’s dad looks at her. He looks like he’s in pain, and she headbutts him in the shoulder again to try to comfort him.

“Maggie.” She knows her name, so she looks up.

“Peter’s dead.”

Maggie doesn’t know that word. Tony’s never used it for Peter before.

Peter is _kid, son, buddy_.

Peter is _I love you._

Peter is _good girl, Mags_ and naps on the couch and sneaking treats behind Tony’s back and racing on the grass until she’s breathless and he’s laughing.

Peter can’t be _dead_ , because _dead_ makes Tony’s eyes fill with salt tears and his shoulders tremble like Peter’s did sometimes and he smells like fear and longing. And her boy wouldn’t do that to his dad.

Maggie whines in her throat, confused.

“He’s not coming home,” Tony says.

Maggie nudges Tony’s jaw, licks away a tear that spills over like she does for Peter. She keens again, still not understanding.

“He’s not coming home, _ever_.” Tony’s voice goes quiet and high, like he’s trying to whine like she does.

Maggie knows those words. She lays her ears flat against her head, narrows her eyes. She doesn’t _want_ Peter to never come home. She wants to play with him again, and lay on his lap while he scratches her ears. She wants to wake him up in the mornings and drag his papers away when he stays up too late and should be asleep. She wants to look after him and protect him and care for him.

She loves Peter. She doesn’t want him to be _dead_ if it means never seeing him again.

She barks, quietly. Tony bows his head over the tiny Peter in the frame and mimics the sound, a breathy sort of cough. Drops hit the glass next to Maggie’s paw.

Tony’s crying. Maggie knows this word, too, because when she first came here, her boy used to do that a lot. And she didn’t like it when he cried, so she would lay down next to him and her fur would soak up his tears and he would stop crying.

She’s never seen Tony cry, but Peter apparently isn’t coming home and she wants to cry, too.

Keening softly, Maggie presses her head against Tony’s chest until he falls back onto Peter’s pillows. Her boy’s scent is all around them, and it’s comforting to her. She hopes it’s comforting to him, too.

“Peter,” Tony sobs. “Peter. My _son_.”

Maggie aches all over.

She bites a corner of the blankets and pulls them until they cover Tony’s shaking form.

“My baby. _My baby._ ” He’s still clutching the frame to his chest.

 _Their baby._ He used to curl up in the curve of her stomach like a puppy, would bury his face in her neck and hold her.

In the dark room, Peter’s things are scattered around, never to be touched again.

Maggie lays down next to Tony, unable to stop the whines coming from her chest. Tony tangles one hand in her fur.

“I failed,” he whispers. His tears are cold on her skin.

 _I failed. I failed._ She and Tony had had an agreement—she would protect Peter and he would protect Peter, and Peter would never be hurt.

Peter is dead.   

_We failed._

**Author's Note:**

> Well, what'd you think? 
> 
> Thank you to SparrowFlight246 for inspiring me to write something from Maggie's perspective.


End file.
